


Throughout the Years

by orphan_account



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Each Chapter is Different, M/M, cross posted from tumblr, oneshots, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection on prompts that were written as oneshots. Cross posted from my Tumblr, the-house-of-fucking-pitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Make Some Good Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse (all) my terrible titles, they are really just quick afterthoughts. I haven't posted anything on here for a long time so I decided it was about time, and the bonus of posting my oneshots here came with it. I will post one daily until I have no more left, as to which I'll post as they are written. Without further ado, the first oneshot!

Simon always insisted on buying candles when the holidays came around. "It made it really feel like Christmas," was always Simon's excuse. Baz wasn't particularly against it, all he was worried about was the price, and that was only a distant thought when he saw the joyous expression on Simon's face whenever he got a new candle. Baz new that this was the first time Christmas really felt like a holiday to him, and Baz wasn't about to take that away.

At first, it was just a few candles here and there, different scents emanating all throughout the house. But after a week or so, things were beginning to get out of hand.

When Baz walked in to their flat -and by their, he means Simon and Penelope's-, he nearly stumbled back at the scent that was overwhelming his senses. Simon seemed to had found a favourite scent.

Peppermint.

Baz had a vague dislike for the smell. The spell that quenched his cravings as a kid always stunk of it, meaning that only memories he had with it were filled with fangs and irrationality. It disoriented him to smell peppermint so strongly once again.

Blinking a couple of times, Baz began moving in the waking world again, shrugging off his jacket and scarf, jumper and hat. He tugged the collar of his black uniform and patted down his rumpled pants. Baz couldn't stand any more disorientation. He felt that he couldn't even remember the number of their flat due to how dazed he was.

Finding his up the stairs, Baz all but dropped himself onto the couch when he made it to the living room. The Christmassy smell was so overpowering that he was acquiring a headache just by being in the presence of it. He draped an arm over his face, trying to cover the smell with the blandness of his skin.

He must not have heard footsteps because he was quite sure that Simon hadn't been in the entrance of the living room while he entered. Hearing "Baz?" made him jump. He looked over at Simon with bleary eyes, rubbing his face in the process. "What's wrong?" Simon asked, moving to sit down beside him.

"Tired. Work," Baz lied smoothly, not even batting an eye. Simon tilted his head. Baz knew this look; Simon did this whenever he was calculating him. It was quite startling whenever his boyfriend did to him. Baz had no idea how he did it, as 'he didn't think,' as Simon put it, but he always found out what Baz was thinking. 

Simon narrowed his eyes, but Baz stood his ground. Didn't flinch, didn't change his expression, just kept the tired, bored look. He knew that it was like bringing a sword to a gun fight, trying to throw Simon off his trail, but he wasn't a Pitch if he didn't try.

Pursing his lips, Simon shook his head. "That's not it," he said with a tinge of amusement in his voice. Simon was having fun with this. Baz, consciously, knew that he couldn't blame Simon for that, as this happened quite often, and it was just honing his detective skills every time this happened. Baz found it annoying, nonetheless. No one could ever see through his façade except for the one he needed it the most against.

"Of course that's it, Snow," Baz spat. "I had to cover for someone else's shift today because their mom was getting surgery, remember? I worked eight to six today. Excuse me if I'm a little worn out."

The corner of Simon's mouth twitched. That was the only warning before he was tackled into the couch.

"What the bloody-" Baz began, but he never finished his sentence. It was cut off by a hysterical cry from himself, trying to stop the incessant jabbing of his stomach from Simon. "S-Simon!" he shouted, tears pricking at his eyes as he tried to push him off. "Stop!"

Simon laughed. "Then tell me why you have a headache!" This continued on for another minute or so, a throw blanket being flung off the couch and an ornament falling off the makeshift tree in the process. Baz couldn't think the whole time; his sides were heaving and his mouth was making noises he had never heard come out of his mouth in his life. 

"Okay, okay!" Baz yelled gruffly, kicking at Simon's leg feebly. Simon slowly stopped, still straddling Baz's waist while he gasped for air. It took a couple minutes, but he finally composed himself, the ghost of a smile on his face. In the blink of an eye, Baz was staring at Simon with slight confusion. "I never told you I had a headache," he stated simply, pulling part of his lip into his mouth subconsciously. (It was one of Simon's greatest pleasures.)

Simon chuckled, amused. "I lived with you for eight years, Baz. If I didn't know what you looked like when you had a headache, which happened a lot, I would have been a bad roommate."

That made Baz break out into laughter. He couldn't calm it for at least a minute. Simon was beginning to get worried. "You," he started, but cut himself off with more laughter. "You," he began again, calming himself. "You think that you were a good roommate?"

Simon looked annoyed, but a smile was slowly spreading itself on his face. He loved it when Baz was happy, even if he was laughing at him. "Shut up, you egg, I'm trying to help you." Getting off of Baz, Simon pulled both of them into a sitting position, grabbing the blanket off of the floor and draping it over both of them. "Now tell me what's up. And don't try to back out, you know what will happen if you do," Simon said with a knowing look.

Baz's mouth twisted, then he sighed. "You're going to hate me for saying this," he muttered. 

Simon gave him an incredulous look. "We both know that's not possible." He stretched an arm around Baz, taking note of the small flinch his nose made when he did.

"The..." sighing again, Baz looked up. "Peppermint. I... I don't really like the smell. It has bad memories." Baz couldn't bring himself to look at Simon. He could only wonder how much money he had used on the candles. Then again, Simon could always just tell him to stop coming over. It's not his flat; Simon and Penelope were the ones legally renting it. He braced himself.

What Baz thought might happen didn't. Simon squeezed Baz closer and smiled softly at him. "Then let's make some good memories with it," Simon said as he grabbed for the television remote, switching it on and searching for a movie.

By the end of the night, Baz could safely say that peppermint was growing on him.


	2. Pitch Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon tries nail polish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to upload this, sorry it's so late! Hope you enjoy!

Simon was never one to enhance his appearance. He always let his hair be and never did anything about the pimples that would sometimes mar his face. He truly didn't care what other people thought of his appearance. Simon was a true believer that, although the outside is nice, the inside is what really matters.

Baz could confidently say that he knew this true more than any other person. Yes, they had roomed for eight years together, but when they started dating was when he had really learned this. This was when Simon finally allowed all his bad habits to shine through and he began to be more open with Baz.

Baz was genuinely surprised when Simon told him he didn't have a morning routine besides changing, brushing his teeth and eating. Sure, he probably should have noticed this while they roomed together at Watford, but back then, Baz really couldn't bother.

So when Simon came back from groceries with his nails painted black, you could imagine the surprise on his face.

Baz didn't really acknowledge it at first. He subconsciously noticed that Simon's finger nails weren't the natural colour that they usually were, but he didn't really think too hard on that. It didn't stick with him until he was watching Simon's hands while he was cooking burgers that night, in which Baz jolted slightly and blinked hard, wondering if he was just hallucinating.

Once Baz composed himself, he cleared his throat. "Simon," he said gruffly, biting his lip when his voice sounded unlike his own. He could feel the blood rising to his face. Baz was trying to be indifferent about the polish on Simon's fingernails. He really was. He had no idea why his brain liked it so much.

Simon looked up obliviously, clueless to what Baz was gawking at for a few seconds. When he followed Baz's gaze to his hands, he smirked. 

Yes, he did get his nails painted for himself, but Baz was quite the big factor in his decision as well. Simon knew that he would either love it or hate it, so he took the chance. It seems he was right to; Baz was ogling his nails exclusively. Simon definitely thought that he would gain a more positive reaction, yes, but Baz looked entranced.

"You okay, Baz?" Simon asked, barely hiding a smile behind his words. Simon almost laughed when Baz's eyes snapped up, his hands flying up to pat his shirt down, composing himself. Simon could barely contain himself when Baz cleared is throat and and ran his hand through his hair, clearly flustered. 

"I'm fine, Snow," Baz said in a low voice, tearing his eyes away and shuffling over to the living room. Simon looked back down at the burger on the skillet and took it off the heat, deeming it good enough and following Baz over to the couch he took refuge on.

Baz stole a look at Simon's nails before quickly looking back at the television, eyes barely focussed. Deciding to tease Baz just a little more, Simon reached up and dragged his finger across Baz's cheek, eliciting a twitch from him. "Simon," Baz said warningly, stiff as a board. But Simon didn't stop. He placed the pad of his thumb on Baz's lower lip, pulling it down. Simon could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

This was the final straw for Baz. Acting on instinct, he grabbed Simon's hand and steadied it, watching it twitch. Before he could think, he brought the finger up to his lips and started kissing around it.

Now it was Simon's turn to be flustered. He could feel the heat rising to his neck as he watched the silhouette of Baz as he practically violated his finger. What really got to him, though, was when Baz looked over at him with squinted eyes, a soft smirk on his lips. Simon had the offhanded thought that he wanted to wipe it right off his face.

So he did.

Their kiss was chaste yet languid, their lips moving against each other with no rhyme or reason. They didn't like to put pressure on their kisses, it made both of them to anxious. Neither were the best at kissing. Though Simon had more experience, Baz was catching up due to how much practicing they had done since they began their relationship. 

They broke apart after a minute or so. Simon immediately chuckled. "So I see you like the nail polish?"

Baz smiled softly. A sheepish, innocent smile. "You should do it more often," he muttered, shoving his face into his shoulder to hide his shyness. It was a side of Baz that Simon didn't see too often, but he loved it. He loved reducing Baz to mumbled words and hidden smiles.

"Maybe I should."


	3. Logical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I forgot the actual name for this one fuck me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I don't really have much to say. I hope you enjoy!

There was a soft squeak that emanated throughout the Catacombs. Barely audible, really. It came from a grey, pleasantly plump mouse resting in the middle of the room. Being a mouse, it had no idea that the squeak it just uttered was quite the awful idea. It had no idea that there was other creatures lurking around, ones much smarter and larger than the stubby rodent.

In the blink of an eye, the mouse's life was swiftly ended, a bite to it's throat doing it in. It became thinner as the blood was drained from it, looking less lifelike by the second. 

A minute passed before the mouse was discarded of, flung into a corner to rot, finalizing the end of the innocent rodent's life. The attacker ran a finger along his bottom lip, lapping at it when he found access blood on the pad of his thumb. 

Basilton Pitch emerged from the front on the old chapel, looking inconspicuous yet obvious as he strolled out of the double doors. Not a stitch of blood on his uniform or skin. On normal occasions like this, he would usually feel much better once he had blood in his system. But this was not a normal occasion. Putting it simply, Baz felt like shit. 

On days like these, he couldn't exactly figure out why. He knew that he felt more inhumane than usual after this round of feeding, but that was given. He always felt more vampire after a visit to the Catacombs. Who wouldn't after drinking the blood of a dozen rats in a dark dungeon? This time was just different, and he couldn't exactly place why.

When he got back to their room, he knew he looked horrible. He could practically feel the rings around his eyes. Simon looked up from his homework as he entered, giving Baz a once over before looking back to his laptop, glasses on the end of his nose.

Yeah, Baz wasn't ready for this.

He scurried into the washroom as conventionally as he could manage, leaning against the counter in front of the mirror as soon as he closed the door. Sighing, Baz slowly looked into the mirror at his disheveled self. His hair was a mess, his eyes were raw, his cheeks were flushed and his face was hollow. He looked malnourished, for a lack of better words. Seventeen-years-old and he already looked over fifty. 

He had to have been in there for the best of half an hour, as he soon heard a soft voice say, "Baz?" He was surprised to hear how sheepish it sounded. Usually Simon would have barged in and forced him out by this point. Rubbing his face softly and opening his eyes wider in a last ditch attempt to look natural, he creeped out of the washroom, trying carefully to not attract his roommates attention.

To Baz's chagrin, Simon looked up the second he stepped foot out of the washroom. He watched as Simon squinted to get a better look at his worn face. Baz nearly flinched under the heated stare he was getting from his roommate. As his face started hearing up, he looked away and strutted to his bed, saying, "stop your staring, Snow, it's quite troublesome."

But this time, Simon didn't stop looking. His eyes traveled as Baz did, watching as he sat on his bed and pretended to fill out a worksheet. Baz could feel the gaze hot on the side of his face. But the moment he opened his mouth, Baz heard squeaking coming from the bed opposite of him, indicating that Simon was getting up.

This was when Baz looked over, barely containing a confused look as he saw Simon coming over to his bed, sitting down on it. Baz couldn't believe that he had the nerve. He was just about ready to shove him when he was annoyingly reminded of the anathema. He opened his mouth, but he cut himself off once again as Simon looked at him with a determined look. 

There was a moment of quiet before Simon declared, "I'm tired of you coming back in the middle of the night looking like you just got attacked by an angry Rakshasa."

Baz laughed dryly. He couldn't believe Simon was asking him. Subconsciously, he was happy that Simon was actually somewhat worried about him. He would never show that outwardly, though. "Since when are you, of all people, any interested in my life? Are you planning to start another ridiculous rumour about me? Great plan, Snow, I'm dying to see what you'll say this time."

Simon pouted deeply. Baz was tempted to kiss him; his pout was ridiculously charming. "No," he replied firmly, an edge in his tone. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually worried about you. But I'm also worried about me, you look like you're going to kill anything that gets in between you and sleep or something."

Baz chuckled humourlessly. "The Chosen One thinks he can solve everyone's problems when he can't even solve his own. Typical." Simon had no idea how much Baz wished he could believe what he was saying. Baz wanted nothing more than to just give in. He knew that he was now just adding fuel to the flames, and that it was a horrible idea, but everyone knew that he was obsessed with fire.

Simon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Baz would do anything to get one chance to touch that beautiful, curly mop. Maybe he would before he set himself on fire.

 

His thoughts were diminished when he heard the squeak of his bed springs. Baz was near certain that he was above grabbing Simon to keep him there, but he betrayed himself when his hand flung out of his lap. His fingers froze in midair as he watched Simon, not getting off the bed, but in fact, scooting closer. Baz was quite stunned by this.

"Baz," Simon started in a voice much unlike his own, their shoulders brushing softly, "I know we've never been the best of friends. Or friends at all. I've always thought of you as my enemy and I know you have too. But we're still roommates and we have to put up with each other. We don't have to be best friends, I don't know if that would be possible, but I think it's about time that we stop trying to curse and kill each other." 

Baz was at a loss for words. He couldn't believe that Simon had just said that. To him. He was trying to convince himself it wasn't a dream that his mind formed out of his desperation. He was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice when he began speaking.

"I... I just feel like nothing is..." Baz grovelled for the right word, nearly scraping his scalp from the death hold he began clutching it in. "Logical. Not anymore. Every night I have to go to what everyone deems a dungeon and hunt. Hunt, Snow. Humans don't hunt for rats to drain. You know what does? Monsters. Monsters do that. I am a m-monster." Baz nearly choked on the last word. Funny how realization hits the hardest when something beyond true is said out loud.

Simon didn't say anything. He knew if he spoke, it would all come out wrong. What he did do was loosen the hands tearing at Baz's head, shift a little closer and place his arm on the backboard behind Baz's shoulders. Simon even dared to place his thumb on his exposed shoulder, lightly rubbing it back and forth. He knew Baz wasn't going to hurt him. 

Baz's breathing was still heavily uneven for a while, but it soon quelled and his head fell onto Simon's shoulder. That was when he knew he was asleep. Simon peered down sleepily at the other's face, smiling softly at the content look on Baz's face, placing the smallest of kisses in the top of his head.

Simon may not have been able to fix the problem tonight, but he would do everything he could to do so in the future. Because, and Simon could finally admit it, Baz deserved it.


	4. Brushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz comes home to a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I accidentally forgot to post yesterday, sorry about that!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"Holy shit."

That was the first phrase that Baz could even begin to say. What could he say; vulgarity was about half of what came out of his mouth. Despite that sentence's impact on most, it scarcely described the iceberg of shock that Baz was experiencing. As overused as the coming phrase is, it thoroughly described the scene: it was only the tip of the iceberg.

Baz could feel the annoyance rising in him. Part of him knew that it wasn't his flat and that it wouldn't be him who would have to deal with the predicament, but the other half had the sneaking suspicion that Penelope would find a way to pin the aftermath on him, since it was his boyfriend that was causing the dilemma. As to which he would tell her that Simon was her best friend, resulting in them getting in a huge argument over who was to help. Whoever gave in first lost, and he was sure that Penelope was counting.

Simon turned around when he seemed to have finished a part of his work. He was wearing what was presumably an old shirt, as it was obviously cut off with scissors right above his belly button. It was a dingy white, three-quarter sleeve -rolled up to the elbow-, that now had wet colours plastered on the front. He had the goofiest smile on his face that almost made Baz want to dismiss the absolute mess in Simon's vicinity. Almost.

Sighing softly, Baz slid off his shoes and shrugged his sweater down on to the dining table, taking a seat beside Simon on the floor. Baz was prepared to scold him when his breath caught in his throat.

He could not see what Simon was doing perfectly. There was a large canvas lying in front of him, a paint brush held in his hand. The canvas was plastered in many different shades of blue and black, creating the illusion of soft waves. There was small pinpricks of white littered in arbitrary places across the painting, varying in size. There was ebony lines that took up part of the scene, crooked and differed lengths. They all lead back to a much thicker black line that resembled much of a tree trunk. 

It was by no means perfect, but perfect isn't attainable. It was as close as one could get to it. The streaks created crinkles that only enhanced the look of the dark sky. The branches were flawed and that was how they were supposed to look. Baz watched in awe as Simon dabbed a thin brush into white paint, stroking the canvas and creating a circle that created slight illumination for the rest of the painting. Baz was mesmerized.

When Simon put the brush down, he leaned back into Baz. "Hey," he said softly. Baz could feel the smile against his neck. And apparently it was contagious, because Baz could soon feel his lips tugging up against his own accord. "Hey," he answered, clearing his throat in embarrassment when his voice sounded unlike his own. 

It took a few minutes of silence, but Baz finally remembered what he came into the room to do -sadly, it was not to watch his boyfriend paint-. "Simon... Why are you painting?" It was the most vague he could get his question to sound. Baz hoped that he didn't make it sound like he didn't like it, because he did.

"Well," Simon began, "Penny told me that I never do anything other than eat and walk around. She told me to get a hobby and she suggested painting. So I did. My first painting looked bad, so now I'm determined to do a good one." 

There was a moments silence before, "did you ever consider putting down trash bags so that you wouldn't stain the floor?" 

Simon blinked. He slowly looked at his surroundings, biting his lip when he saw how many colours were splattered on the floor around him. "No," he said offhandedly. "No, I didn't." 

This made Baz chuckle. He decided to keep Simon going and ask more questions. Moving foreward to rest his chin on Simon's shoulder, he wondered aloud, "Do you think Bunce will be happy with this? You know, when things stain, it's even harder to get out, even with magic."

Simon went rigid at this information. He quite obviously didn't know. Baz had to stifle a laugh. Teasing Simon was one of his finest joys in life. "C'mon." Baz kissed the top of his head. "Let's get cleaning." As soon as Simon got up and opened his mouth, Baz cut him off. "And don't tell Bunce I helped you. I can't sacrifice any more of my pride to her."


End file.
